Page 18 of Rescuing Mara

“You will love it, my mate,” D’Var says before he whispers something in her ear. Lauren's cheeks turn a bright red before he stands up, lifting her into his arms and walking away. T’Rak shakes his head, then follows them into the hallway, leaving me alone with O’Rec.

Nervously, I fumble with the hem of my shirt, scared to look at him. A finger brushes under my chin, tipping it up.

“Do not be afraid, Marra, you can say anything, ask anything. I know you must have questions, and so do I. I am really looking forward to getting to know you.”

A pang of guilt shoots through me. He seems so nice. Not at all, as Ananta said he would be. For the first time in my life, I feel a flicker of doubt inside me when I think of Ananta’s words. Could she be wrong? Or worse, could she be lying to me?

CHAPTER13

O’Rec

She looks so composed, my Zarra, but she is afraid. I can sense her inner turmoil as she averts her eyes and bites her lips. Her intoxicating scent of fresh flowers is tainted.

I can no longer control myself, so I grab her hand. She lets me, but she still does not look at me.

“You can speak freely, Marra. You are not a prisoner or a slave. You are free, and I promise nothing bad will happen to you when you speak your mind.”

I gently caress the back of her hand with my thumb, slowly sliding my hand towards her fingers, holding them in the palm of my hand while my thumb traces her knuckles. She raises her head, but her eyes have that awful empty stare. She stares straight ahead, her free hand raising to touch the thin black line tattooed across her neck.

She turns to me, her vacant eyes burning into my soul. “This line says otherwise. I have always been Ananta’s property. Now I am yours.”

“No!” I cry out, hating myself for raising my voice immediately.

“No.” I softly repeat my words, grabbing her other hand in mine as well. “You are my Zarra, but that does not mean you are my property. You are my life, and you are my heart, my soul, my everything. I will worship you with every breath I take, but you are not my possession. You are your own, and if you give me a piece of yourself, I will happily embrace it, care for it, nurture it, and make it grow.”

My hand touches her slender neck, tracing the thin line. I now recognize it as a symbol of possession.

“I cannot eliminate it, but I can change it for you. Give you a choice about what markings you wear on your skin?”

She blinks, then blinks again. Light returns to her eyes, and I release some of the tension I was holding.

“You… you can do that?” she stammers.

“Of course, I always carry some ink with me.”

She stares at me now, at my arms and torso, as if she is only now realizing that the symbols that endow my body are tattoos.

“Who, who gave them to you? What do they mean?” she whispers, scared of the answer.

I rise, slowly removing my harness and the few weapons that are always strapped to it. Standing before her in only my leathers, I feel strangely vulnerable. Will she like what she sees? Will she like my body?

Her mouth falls open as she looks at me in utter fascination. My confidence grows; I guess she likes what she sees. I inhale, and her scent of sweet flowers is all that surrounds me. Deciding to take the leap, I softly grab her by the waist and set her on top of the table to reduce the height difference between us.

She starts reaching out to me but pulls her hand back before her fingers reach my skin. I smile at her, determined not to be disappointed, as I start pointing out the markings and their meaning. I tell her about the tattoos that mark me growing into adulthood, the ones for battles and the ones for lost friends.

“I like that one,” she points out an intricate swirl covering my left pectoral. It starts as one big line but ends in two curls brought together in a tip. I look at her delicate neck, the dip at the bottom, and imagine a delicate necklace lying there in between her breasts.

“I have an idea.” I start to reach out to touch her, but hesitate.

“Can I touch you?”

She gives me a puzzled look, then nods.

My hand traces the tattooed band on her neck. “I can draw a line from here.” I point at the side of her neck. “To here.” My fingers move towards her sternum. “And another one on this side.” I repeat the movement on the other side of her neck.

I point to the valley between her breasts. “I can swirl the lines through each other and have them connect here.”

She gasps. Clutching her hand to mine as my fingers rest in that intimate spot. Seconds go by, leaving us both frozen in the touch.

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